Maura Doyle
by HelenaHGWells
Summary: Maura's been compromised due to Paddy's shady dealings, and Paddy's enemies are after her while the FBI has failed to keep her safe. She's forced to turn to Paddy and the criminal underworld to keep herself and those she loves safe. She hasn't seen Jane since she's been in hiding, but a chance encounter throws them back together.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have another multi-chapter Rizzles fic that I'm really only just starting, but I keep getting distracted by this one-shot from my headcannon of a darker season 4 Maura who's trying to channel her inner Kate Todd. So I figured I'd just write it and maybe I'll do something with it later.\**

**TW: Depictions of violence- blood, guns  
**

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**Chapter 1**

Shots rang out as they rounded the corner into the dimly lit parking garage. Jane went for her gun, pushing Maura back against the wall with just enough time to shield her friend as she caught a bullet in the shoulder.

Jane fell back, crumpling into Maura even as she fought through the shooting pain to raise her weapon again and fire in the direction of the shooter. The man ducked away and the bullet went wide, her arm spasming with the pain and effort of keeping the gun up and absorbing the recoil. Lifting her arm was close to impossible, her shoulder felt heavy and pain radiated out from her wound when she tried to move it.

Maura was on her knees in front of Jane, having pulled her back up against the wall and as much out of sight as was possible. Her eyes were wide in panic as she pulled back Jane's jacket to try and get a better look at the wound, Jane wincing at the movement.

"It looks like a through-and-through. We have to keep pressure on it," Maura was instructing, struggling to keep her voice level as she tried to reassure her friend.

"Maura-" Jane called out urgently, staring over the woman's shoulder.

Maura whipped around to see the shooter advancing towards them. An overwhelming sense of impending doom overtook Jane as she watched the man reloading own gun, and she fought unsuccessfully to lift her weapon again. He was going to shoot them, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Maura's sudden movement took her completely by surprise. In a moment she had grabbed Jane's weapon and spun around to face the man, and as he raised his arm she fired twice hitting him squarely chest. He went down immediately.

Maura stayed frozen, crouched protectively in front of Jane, gun still trained on his lifeless form, tensed for any movement. There was only silence besides Jane's ragged breathing. Jane stared at her friend whose face had been transformed into a mask of focused rage. Maura slowly got to her feet and approached the body, gun still ready, moving carefully until she stood in front of him. He was not dead, but he would be soon. He was groaning quietly and staring up at her, determinedly drawing each rattling breath as his body shut down. She tilted her head as she took in his desperate clinging to life, thinking to herself that it would probably be a kindness to put him out of his misery. This man who had hounded and hunted her and made her life hell, now whimpering here like an animal mown down on a highway.

Jane's heart was pounding as she watched Maura standing over the man, watched her raise her weapon, and fire once into his head. The body jerked as the shot rang out. Then Maura lowered her arm again and walked back to Jane.

Jane was staring at her friend in wide-eyed disbelief but Maura didn't seem to notice. She was working on Jane's shoulder again but her focused expression had started to slip; her hands were shaking and she took a long slow breath to calm herself.

"Maura," Jane said urgently, trying to get the woman to look at her.

But sirens and the sound of reinforcements arriving cut through the silence. Maura's head snapped up and she looked around wildly.

"Maura!" Jane tried again, but yelped in pain as the doctor took her hand and pressed it to shoulder.

"Keep pressure on it," she she said firmly, though Jane didn't miss the crack in her voice. "I have to go."

"Maura no!" Jane cried, desperately trying to think how to reason with her friend, fighting through the fuzziness at the edge of her vision as waves of nausea hit her over and over.

Finally Maura met her friend's gaze.

"You can't protect me, Jane," Maura said fiercely, but her voice softened as she added, "and I can't protect you. I have to go."

A car squealed to a halt behind them and one of Paddy Doyle's cronies threw the passenger door open for her.

"Maura, no…" Jane tried again weakly. The pain was dulling all her other senses as it pulsed through her arm, but even as her vision swam she thought she saw a moment of indecision cross her friend's face.

But it was gone almost immediately. Maura took Jane's head in her hands and pressed her lips to Jane's forehead, trying to communicate the turmoil of feelings that were bubbling up in her chest through hot lips. She pulled back and bent down to Jane's ear.

"I love you," she whispered.

Then she was gone. And Jane felt completely broken.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So I guess I'm doing this now... for some reason I'm finding this headcannon much more compelling than The Chart. But I'll get the next chapter for that up soon too.**

**TW: reference to gun violence**

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**Chapter 2**

Maura stared blankly out the window as Steve drove.

It was the first time she'd seen Jane in months. She'd thought about her friend almost every moment of every day since she had disappeared from protective custody. Since Colin's men had broken into her 'safehouse' and shot the man guarding her. Since she'd called her father, the mob boss Paddy Doyle and begged him to help her.

He'd kept his word; even while he was locked up, even though his second in command Colin Ferguson had made a play for power, there were still men who were loyal to him. Men who had helped her, like Steve, who had risked his life to go with her tonight in a last desperate attempt to get the evidence she needed to put Colin away. To end this madness. To get her life back so she could finally go home, go back to work, back to dissecting bodies and analyzing crime scenes and watching from a safe distance as Jane put the bad guys away.

Jane.

Maura closed her eyes and let her head rest against the glass of the passenger window. She hoped Jane was ok. The bullet had hit her right in the shoulder but it had gone straight through, she was sure of that. It should heal. It was her shooting arm, but she shouldn't be out of commission for long. Not that Jane would ever stop for something as minor as a bullet to the shoulder. Especially not when Maura was missing.

It was the first time Jane had seen her in months. What did she think had happened, when she was called to the homicide at what would turn out to be Maura's safehouse and found her minder's body? Agent Dean must have arrived soon after, must have told Jane what had been going on- that Maura had disappeared so suddenly because the FBI put her into protective custody. That the man lying on the floor in the cheap motel was supposed to be protecting her. That she was missing. That the FBI had no idea where she was.

Maura tried to blink away tears but they spilled over and ran down her cheeks. Had Jane thought she was dead? Had she been angry when Maura had disappeared? When Agent Dean told Jane that it was a choice; that Maura had chosen to leave her friend without a word, knowing that Colin wouldn't stop coming for her, and knowing that it was only a matter of time before Jane would be caught in the crossfire. Did she understand that? Did she understand why? Or did she just think that Maura didn't trust her enough to confide in her?

There had been no time to ask of course. No time for pleasantries, or even for a hurried exchange. It had all happened so quickly. Maura had gone to Paddy's old office, looking for the files on Colin- the evidence she needed to take him down. Paddy was smart; he never fully trusted anyone, not even his second in command. So he kept meticulous records of everything; enough evidence to put Colin away for a long time. She didn't know why Jane had been there; she hadn't expected in a million years to see her friend again. Not until all this was over, until Maura had put an end to it all.

She replayed the moment in her mind: standing in front of the safe in Paddy's office, her back to the door, Steve waiting outside with the engine running.

Maura had heard the deep growl of her voice first.

"Don't move."

Then the click of the safety coming off.

Maura had frozen, the jolt in her chest starting towards elation and then quickly spreading into fear. Jane shouldn't be here, couldn't be here, couldn't help her, she had to finish this now, on her own, with Jane at a safe distance. And then another realization.

Jane wouldn't know it was her.

Maura had changed her appearance soon after she'd escaped Colin's raid on the safehouse. Her hair was shorter, straight, and a deep chocolate brown. She had bangs, and she wore pants and flat shoes; more practical, easier to run.

"Show me your hands," Jane's voice came again. "Slowly."

Maura set the file she was holding carefully on the desk beside her, careful not to make any sudden moves, not to spin quickly to face the detective or move towards her, fighting the pull throughout in her body to do so. She had heard the tension in Jane's voice; she mustn't do anything to spook her, no matter how badly she wanted to see her face, to go to her. She must move slowly.

Maura raised her hands, and risked a careful, slow turn of her head, looking back behind her, finally catching sight of Jane poised in the doorway, her wild curls pulled back tightly, her arms stretched out, tensed, gun trained on Maura.

Their eyes locked.

"Jane," Maura whispered.

Recognition spread across the detective's face. Shock, disbelief... happiness?

"Maur...?" she managed to gasp.

"Jane!" Maura's voice broke as she turned fully to face her friend who, in two quick strides had crossed the room and was standing in front of her, arms quickly folding around her, pulling her into a desperate embrace that crashed them together.

Maura felt herself dissolving, even as she fought to maintain composure, fought to maintain the focus she knew she needed to get this done, to end it, to get her life back.

Jane was pressing her head into Maura's shoulder, breathing in deeply as if to steady herself, or to lose herself, to reassure herself that her friend was real, that Maura was here. That she was real, and safe.

Maura closed her eyes and momentarily allowed herself to get lost in Jane.

And then the crack of shots fired broke through their moment of calm. Jane had spun to face the source of the commotion but Maura had known already what was coming. She had grabbed the file, grabbed her friend's hand, and run.

And now Jane was on the floor of a dimly lit parking garage with a bullet hole in her shoulder.

And Maura was alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks folks for bearing with these sporadic updates- I'll try and get some more consistency going!**

**TW: Depictions of violence, torture, blood  
**

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**Chapter 3**

_The motel room has been thoroughly overturned. The body on the floor has been shot in the leg, accounting for the copious amounts of blood soaked into the carpet and the sheets on the bed as he was bleeding out. But he's clearly been tortured too; fingernails are missing, fingers are broken, one ear hangs loose from his bruised and broken face. The shot to the head is what finally finished him off, god only knows how many hours later. Perhaps the interim medical examiner will be able to give a more accurate timeline..._

_Clothes are strewn about the room, tables overturned, drawers pulled out and tossed aside. A bloodstained jacket lies crumpled on the floor; it's bright yellow, a woman's blazer._

_Maura's jacket._

_Maura was here._

_But why was she here? Where is she now? Whose blood is that?_

Jane snaps awake, immediately squinting against the bright glare of hospital lights. She moves to sit up and pain shoots through her arm, causing her to let out a gasp.

"Jane!" a voice wails and her mother is at her side, fussing and clucking as Jane tries to shake the fog from her head and figure out what's going on.

"Where's Maura?" she finally manages, taking Angela's hand reassuringly and trying to move her out of the way so she can see the rest of the room.

"There's no sign of her Jane," Korsk steps into view. "We put out an APB on the vehicle you saw, but without plates there's not much to go on."

"Do you remember what happened Janie?" her mother's concerned voice comes again.

"Yea, Ma, I was shot," Jane frowns as she tries to piece together the events from earlier that day- Today? Yesterday? How long has it been? "How long have I been out?"

"You went into surgery yesterday afternoon. You've been in and out of consciousness all day," Frost appeared next to Korsak.

"Yesterday?" asked Jane incredulously. "Wait what time is it? It's the evening _the day after _Maura disappeared? _Again_?"

She moved as if to get up and out of her bed, but firm hands pushed her back down.

"Jane Clementine Rizzoli, did you not just hear what Detective Frost just said?" Angela's voice was carried a warning tone. "You've been in surgery, and you've had a lot of morphine. You were very lucky, the bullet didn't hit the joint and went straight through, but there's a lot of muscle damage. Ligaments and nerves and such. You need time to heal."

"Ma, we just found her" Jane struggled in vain against her mother. "Maura was at Paddy's office- she's alive! We've gotta found out what happened to her. Who's making her do this-"

"There's no indication that anyone's _making _her to anything," Agent Dean's voice cut in and Jane looked up sharply to see him loitering in the doorway.

The tension in the room kicked up a notch at this unwelcome addition.

Jane glowered at him. "You have some nerve."

"Look, I know I'm not exactly your favourite person right now, but you want answers, right? And I can give them to you."

"Oh a bullet to the shoulder makes me need-to-know does it?" Jane asked, not bothering to mask her disdain.

"We'll uh- we'll give you a minute," Korsak put out an arm to chaperone Angela from the room, Frost quickly following.

Agent Dean watched them go, still hanging back sheepishly,and refusing to meet Jane's eyes.

"So you figured out where Doyle's office was. You knew he'd have information there. Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

"Because I didn't trust you," Jane snapped back.

"Ok, that's fair" he replied quietly. "Did you know Dr. Isles would be there?"

"No!" Jane said quickly. "I haven't heard anything from her for weeks."

"So you haven't been communicating with her?" he pressed her.

She set her jaw and stared him down. "I haven't seen her since you convinced her leave everyone she knew, everyone who cared about her, and put her trust in the FBI."

He looked away, unable to defend himself against the accusation. His intentions may have been good, but the FBI hadn't been able to protect Maura. The very fact that she was still alive- something he'd seriously doubted until yesterday- was down to Maura herself.

Jane sensed his hesitation and began her questioning immediately. "Who was that guy? In the parking garage. Did you get an ID?"

"Sean Peters. A known associate of Colin Ferguson," Agent Dean slunk further into the room. "He was a hitman- most likely the one who's been going after Dr. Isles. We matched his DNA to that found at a few other crime scenes- at Maura's home after the first- uh- attack, and at the safehouse where Agent Forbes was killed."

Jane's dream suddenly came back in full force as she pictured the sight of Agent Forbes' broken body on the motel floor, and she fought back the wave of nausea that accompanied it.

She took a deep breath to regain her composure. "So that's good right? If this Peters guy is out of the picture now?"

"Not exactly..." Agent Dean replied carefully. "The situation has changed."

"Changed how?"

"We think that Ferguson put the hit out on Dr Isles to stir up trouble between Paddy Doyle and the other Boston crime families. Make it look like someone was targeting her to get Doyle to react- get him to send out a warning to the other players, which to them would read like an act of aggression. Doyle's focus on Dr Isles and her mother has proved to be... unpopular to some of his crew. The perception is that he's risking lives to protect two women who have nothing to do with the business. Who are none of anyone else's concern."

"Right," Jane continued, "So Paddy appears to go after the other families unprovoked, and Ferguson swoops in and takes the reins, restores order and works things out with the other families. Ousting Paddy Doyle removes the 'problem' and everything goes back to normal."

"Except it didn't quite work out that way," Agent Dean explained. "There are folks who go way back with Doyle; people who are very loyal. And the other families don't trust Ferguson; they see through what he's doing and they don't like it."

"So Ferguson isn't in charge?"

"Not fully," Agent Dean continued. "Some of Doyle's crew switched sides, but there's a lot of in-fighting within the Doyle clan. And the other families can sense the weakness and have started to move. There's a turf war brewing between the Boston crime families."

"Their turf has been established for years- there's never been a reason or opportunity to challenge things," Jane nodded. "Til now. This could be a real shit-storm. But what does this have to do with Maura?"

Agent Dean appeared to be choosing his words carefully as he rubbed his neck. Jane noticed his discomfort and frowned, bracing herself for what was coming.

"We think... that Dr Isles is now posing quite a different challenge to Ferguson. After he put out the hit on her, I asked her to go into protective custody."

"I remember," Jane growled. She wasn't sure she would ever forgive Agent Dean for putting her friend in that position; telling her the only option she had was to disappear without warning, not telling anyone where she was going, cutting all ties. And after all it hadn't done any good- her minder had been tortured and killed, and Maura had gone missing. The FBI hadn't been able to protect her. She would have been better off staying with Jane.

"Well, after the safehouse was compromised and Agent Forbes was killed, we think she turned to Paddy Doyle for help. Like I said, there are still people who are loyal to him, and the family is split on whether to back Doyle or switch to Ferguson. With Doyle in prison, Ferguson was betting that he wouldn't be able to mobilize much support. But he didn't bank on Maura."

Jane's eye widened as she pieced together the implications of what Agent Dean was suggesting.

"You think she's working with Paddy? You think she's going to take over the family business?" Jane was incredulous. "No! That's ridiculous! That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard! Maura Isles the Mob Boss?" she snorted with laughter. "No way."

Agent Dean just looked at the floor.

"No way," Jane said again, no longer laughing, her voice full of conviction. "If Maura turned to Doyle it's because _you _made her feel like she had no other option. You should never have told her to go into protective custody."

"That was her choice-"

"That's bullshit!" Jane shouted furiously. A nurse looked up warily from across the hall, but didn't intervene.

"It's the truth, Jane," Agent Doyle raised his voice enough to be heard, but he didn't shout. "After Peters went after her at home- she came to me. She asked to be taken in. She was scared- and not for herself."

He gave Jane a long hard look. "Your mother practically lives with her. Your nephew is there all the time. You are _always _with her. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone became collateral damage. So she took herself out of the equation."

Jane slumped back against the pillow. She knew it made sense. After the so-called 'gas leak' in Maura house that had taken out most of her kitchen, the woman had been distraught. Angela had arranged to look after TJ, and she'd gone to pick him up from Lydia's house so they weren't around when the explosion occurred. But just the thought of it- the possibility- had left Maura a wreck and there was nothing Jane had been able to do to reassure her, except promise that they would find this guy.

Well they had- he was now lying on a slab in the morgue at Boston PD. So why was Maura still in hiding? Would she stay away until Colin Ferguson was brought down too? Was she going to wait for BPD and the Feds to do that, or was she taking matters into her own hands?

"We need to find her, Jane," Agent Dean was speaking again. "The good news is, it doesn't look like Ferguson's guys know where she is either. We think they followed you to that building. We think they've been tailing you since Maura disappeared, hoping you'd lead them to her."

Jane closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. Maura had gone into hiding to protect her, and Jane had done the opposite for Maura. She should have known- why wasn't she more careful?

"Look, Jane," Agent Dean's voice softened as he saw her tortured expression. "We have to work together on this. No more secrets, no more need-to-know. I'll give you access to everything I have. But you have to be straight with me too."

She nodded dumbly, her mind already whirring with thoughts of Maura in the care of mob criminals. Pain was starting to pulse dully in her arm again, making it hard to think clearly.

"Maura could be in some real trouble," Agent Dean was saying. "If she's working with Paddy Doyle then she's with guys who are of questionable loyalty- seasoned criminals, men who have killed. And if she plays this wrong she'll have not only Colin Ferguson but every man with a grudge against Doyle gunning for her."

The way Agent Dean was talking, he didn't sound like he expected Maura to make it to the end of the week. But there was something else worrying Jane, something he didn't know. When backup had arrived at the parking garage, they'd found Sean Peters with Jane's bullets in his body, and she hadn't yet corrected their assumption that Jane had been the one who shot him.

But Jane's mind played over and over again the image of Maura Isles, standing over his body, watching him almost curiously, like he was an object of study. And then without hesitation, shooting him in the head execution-style. Jane's mouth went dry just thinking about it. She had no doubt that she would find her friend, that she would get Maura out, that she would bring her home. What she wasn't sure of, was what sort of person Maura would be.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks, folks, for your kind words and for sticking with this story! Let me know what you think and where things should go- your feedback is so much appreciated!**

**TW: Depictions of violence/trauma, blood, guns  
**

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**Chapter 4**

The warehouse where Maura had been staying since she fled the FBI safehouse was sparsely furnished, but it had everything she needed. A bed, a desk with a computer, and a chair. She had left all her belongings behind at the motel when she had run, and the few things she'd picked up since were packed in an overnight bag. There was no sense in settling in- she needed to be able to leave quickly if necessary. Her room was a disused office space with a small adjoining washroom, and she would shower at one of a couple of local gyms where she worked out during the week- never the same one two days in a row.

The building was on the waterfront by the docks- it belonged to Steve, and was still operational, though cutbacks meant that it was operated by a minimal staff, and no one remarked as she came and went. They recognised her of course, and they knew better than to say anything. Her room was at the back of the building up a tall flight of stairs. A wall of internal windows looked out over the warehouse floor, and from this vantage point she could observe the activities below and react to any developments. There was also an emergency exit that lead to a fire escape and to the roof, which would serve her well if a swift departure became necessary.

The remnants of a busier time in a better economy were stacked against the far wall; boxes full of files, filing cabinets, shredded paper, all covered in a thick layer of dust. The room was dimly lit with the unnatural glow of dirty tube lights, but a small skylight allowed a shaft of sunlight to break through the gloom each morning.

It was hardly the Ritz. It was, in fact, like no way of life that Maura Isles had ever encountered before. But she could make do with very little when she needed to. And yet this placelessness, the feeling of being hunted, being always on edge- it was wearing on her. She hadn't realized how much until, with frayed nerves and adrenaline coursing through her veins, she had put down Sean Peters like some kind of animal.

When she'd jumped into Steve's car and sped away to safety she'd felt the weight of it all suddenly hit her. The wave of emotion at seeing Jane again, and the accompanying realization of how far away she had drifted, as day after day of living in this bizarre twilight zone had ticked by into normality, only to be confronted so viscerally with the life that she'd lost in the physical presence of her dearest friend.

Her friend who had been shot.

The dispassionate professionalism with which Maura had assessed Jane's condition only minutes earlier had abruptly crumbled into a nauseating fear for the woman's safety. Maura had looked down to see Jane's blood all over her hands- dark and sticky and metallic-smelling.

She had just killed a man. She was covered in Jane's blood. And overcome with shock, as the dual realizations hit her for the first time, she had yelled at Steve to pull over as she flung the passenger door open and wretched violently at the side of the road.

In the first few days of being on the run, she had found herself in floods of tears all the time, unable to fathom how she could possibly get herself out of this mess and get her life back, all while keeping safe the people who meant most to her. Slowly exhaustion and adrenaline had taken over, and the feeling of constant watchfulness and wakefulness, had become a haunted familiarity. She didn't cry any more. She just kept moving.

Turning to Paddy Doyle had not been a decision she'd made lightly. She wasn't even completely sure that he would help her after she'd worked so hard to put him away. She had even told him she wished he was dead. But he had been grateful that Maura had reached out to him; glad to have his daughter admit that she needed him. He had given her an address, and she had shown up on Steve MacAuley's doorstep in South Boston in the middle of the night. He was about the same age as Paddy Doyle, but they were quite different. Steve was unrefined but gentle, and she was discovering he had an awkward humour that was dated and often fell flat. Dad humour. He reminded her a little of Vince Korsak; and though she'd never thought of Korsak as being 'old enough to be her father', she supposed that given Paddy's young age when he had met Hope, that Korsak probably technically was old enough. At any rate, her affection for the detective had allowed room for a feeling of, if not warmth, at least wary trust, towards Steve MacAuley.

He generally made a point of minding his own business, but as he watched her dry-heaving on the edge of the road that night, he had offered up his two cents in gruff reassurance.

"He would have killed you," Steve had told her in the straightforward manner she had come to appreciate. "If you hadn't shot first, he would have killed you without hesitation. And then he'd have killed your friend."

It was small comfort. But as she'd pulled herself together and climbed back into the car, a strange calm had settled over her. It was as if she'd stepped outside of herself and was watching someone else's life unfold. It was oddly reassuring. The feeling of being out of control and constantly on the brink had begun to dissipate, and she'd started to think rationally about her situation. For the first time in weeks, she felt able to remove herself from her subjective experience and really consider her options.

Now she stood in the bare washroom under the bright fluorescent lights of the warehouse, washing Jane's blood from her hands. She considered her reflection in the dirty mirror; hollow eyes stared back at her, framed by dark hair and drawn, pale skin. She knew what she had to do.

She had to take control. Colin Ferguson had to go.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: A bit of a longer chapter this time, but a bit of a longer time coming too. Setting the wheels in motion- things are happening...**

**TW: Reference to gun/gang violence, death/autopsy (children), cop killing  
**

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**Chapter 5**

Jane had been stuck behind a desk for almost a month. Despite discharging herself from hospital early and arguing long and loud with Cavanaugh that she was ready to go to work, he had allowed her back in the building on the condition that she did not go into the field. For the first couple weeks she wasn't even cleared to drive, she was so hopped up on painkillers. But the idea of sitting around at home 'recovering' while South Boston went to hell and Maura was lost somewhere in the midst of it all was a complete impossibility for her. Cavanaugh heard the edge in her voice and saw the look in her eye, and took the warning from Angela that the best thing for everyone involved was to give her _something _to do.

Still, had it just been the prospect of Jane Rizzoli on the warpath, the lieutenant might have stood firm and kept her off duty. The truth was he couldn't afford not to have her there. Bodies were coming in almost every day now; the turf war in South Boston was raging in full force. Sometimes it was a hit on a known member of a family or gang, and mostly it was their henchmen that caught a bullet, but a few familiar faces had shown up in the morgue over the past month. Sometimes it was drug dealers on corners exchanging fire, and sometimes- too often- innocent victims became collateral damage. Just that morning two kids from the rowhouses in Doyle's- now Ferguson's- territory had been hit by stray bullets that came through their window from a teenage gunfight on the street. The shooter had been fleeing, spraying bullets wildly over his shoulder as he ran. They hadn't gone anywhere near their intended target, just straight through the bedroom window and into a brother and sister as they'd peaked outside to see what was going on.

Jane stood in the morgue, biting her lip and trying her hardest to stay still as she watched Dr. Pike examine each body with excruciating slowness. If one of her arms wasn't strapped to her chest she felt like she might run over and shake some sense of urgency into him. Come to think of it, that could probably be accomplished with just one arm- she was strong enough...

Just then Korsak entered the morgue, interrupting her fantasy of assaulting the medical examiner.

"Got the bullets yet?" he asked.

"Dr. Pike is still ruminating on the best way to remove them from the bodies," Jane replied with her sweetest smile that did nothing to cover the threatening tone in her voice.

"Come on, Pike," Korsak called encouragingly. "We know what killed them, we know how and where. We just need the bullets for ballistics so we can actually start working on who."

"We know that too, Korsak," Jane pointed out with a frustrated sigh. "We know just about every damn thing about this case and all the others that have come through here this month. We just can't prove it."

"Hence the need for a carefully executed forensic examination!" proclaimed Dr. Pike triumphantly. "Perhaps I can provide some of the crucial evidence you so desire."

Jane gave Korsak a look of complete exasperation. "We need to be out there on the streets. Picking up random gang members is not going to stop this war. We've gotta take out the main players or we're just gonna keep racking up the body count until one side runs out of men or bullets."

"That's what Agent Dean is working on," Korsak said sympathetically. "Building the case against Ferguson so we can take him out of the picture and hope that the Doyle clan's in-fighting will clear up, maybe that whole territory will implode, and things with the other families will settle back down again."

"Yeah well it would be nice if he would share a little of his insight with the rest of us. So much for giving us access to his case files- he hasn't given us shit! All he's done is bug me about whether I've heard from Maura."

"She's still awol?"

Jane nodded. "He thinks I'm lying. Hell, he probably has my phone tapped, just in case." She looked dejected. "I just wish I knew she was ok."

Korsak patted her good arm understandingly. "Dr. Isles is a smart woman. She knows how to take care of herself."

Her old partner gave her a significant look. He knew as well as she did that the old Maura didn't have any street smarts. But since she'd told him the details of how things had gone down in the parking garage, they both knew that it would be a mistake to underestimate this new Maura- the one who had been pushed to the edge and forced to adapt...

"At least when everyone has their own turf, you know who's in charge. People don't step out of line. Why'd Colin Ferguson had to come along and stir everything up?" Jane said bitterly, hating the uncertainty that seemed to pervade everything these days.

"He probably thought it would be a straight-up takeover. He had no idea people would be so loyal to Paddy Doyle."

"Yeah well how bad do you think things are gonna get when Agent Dean takes Ferguson out and there's this huge power vacuum in the Doyle clan? Doyle has the docks- that's good territory. Worth going to war over," Jane said, worrying her lip again as she continued to watch Dr. Pike's slow movements and fastidious documenting. "And right now Dean's entire investigation seems to hinge on finding Maura and using her to take Ferguson out. You know, he thinks Maura could be in a position to fill that void- that Ferguson is going for her because he sees her as a threat. A challenge to his power."

Korsak nodded. "I've heard similar rumblings around the station."

Jane looked at him sharply.

"You haven't told anyone? About-" she glanced over at Pike and dropped her voice to a murmur. "About Maura being the shooter in Peters' death?"

"Of course not, only you, me, and Cavanaugh know that."

She went back staring at Pike as she pulled absent-mindedly on her bandages.

"Do you think he's right?"

"Who?"

"Agent Dean," Jane said in a small voice. "Do you think Ferguson really sees Maura as a threat?"

"How Ferguson sees Maura has no bearing on who she is, or what she's actually likely to do," Korsak said reassuringly. "He doesn't know Maura. We do."

His voice held so much conviction and Jane wanted to believe him. But she knew what Maura herself would say: that under the right circumstances even the most docile individual can be capable of the most uncharacteristic acts- violence, murder even. And how extraordinary were the circumstances in which Maura now found herself? She'd been gone for three months, completely cut off from contact with any of her friends and family, on the run, hunted by police and criminals alike, fearing for her life... Jane had focused on the horrifying possibility that her friend might be changing as a result of her experiences, of having to do terrible things. Because the alternative- that Maura might not even still be alive- was so much worse.

Jane had finally become too antsy to stand in the morgue for another minute, trying to talk Dr. Pike into giving her the bullets that, if they were very lucky, would be matched to a discarded, untraceable weapon, wiped clean of prints and with no DNA. She was tired of chasing dead ends. The only thing that was going to put a stop to the killing was to take out the men at the top. Or more specifically, the man who had started all this.

"Screw this, I'm heading back upstairs to do something that's actually useful," she said to Korsak, already half out the door as she called to Pike over her shoulder, "You'll let me know when you have those bullets ready for ballistics, yeah?"

And then she was racing back upstairs, gone before she could catch Pike's look of disappointment. Korsak chuckled and followed after her.

When he reached the office, Jane was already all over the suspect board, pinning up pictures and names, rifling through old files in an effort to map what remained of the Doyle clan in as much detail as possible. Her desk and those of her fellow officers were already piled high with boxes of old case files; so much old information had been dug up over the last month for cross referencing as old names had resurfaced, old connections been reaffirmed, sides had been switched and alliances tested, people were given up, tips were called in, and old cases became relevant or were reopened. It was an unholy mess.

"Dead," Korsak said as she went to pin a new name to the board. She stopped and looked over at him. "Stabbed in prison three years ago. That one too," he indicated another face on the board.

"Dueling prison-shanks?" Frost looked up from his computer.

"Nah, that one was a heart attack. Too much steak and fries."

Jane grinned at Korsak as he settled into his chair and Frost rounded the desk to stand behind her, watching her work at the board.

"You're mapping the Doyle clan?" Frost asked after observing her rummaging about in various boxes of case files for a few minutes.

"I'm mapping _all _the families," she corrected, grabbing another box and riffling through the files.

"So we've got the Doyles, the Columbians, the Petrellis, and the gangs in the projects," Jane narrated as she finished her rudimentary groupings of families. "We're never gonna make any headway on this thing until we know who we're dealing with. Til we know who's even still around and who their allegiance is with."

"Dead," Korsak interrupted again as she moved to stick another picture to the board.

Frost let out a slow breath, raising his eyebrows. "We're gonna need to go through a lot more files, and not just murders if we want to really map everyone."

Jane nodded, unphased by the enormity of the task she was undertaking.

"And we're gonna need a bigger board," Frost added.

They continued late into the evening, with other officers pitching in, running down to fetch old boxes of case files from storage. Jane had commandeered Frankie to act as a liaison for the drug unit, and he was adding his own intel from their investigations. Korsak had been instrumental in mapping the older members of the families and filling in the details of old ties and rivalries. Frost sat at the heart of the computer centre in the next room, searching databases as he rolled about the room on his chair, pushing off from one terminal to land at another to check on the status of a search and calling out new information as it came up.

Cavanaugh was standing in his doorway, watching the flurry of activity when Angela arrived.

"What's going on?" she asked him in hushed tones. She'd caught the look of focused determination on her daughter's face and knew better than to interrupt.

"Jane's taking down the crime families of Boston," he replied wryly. "Tomorrow she'll be tackling world peace."

"Well, then she's gonna need coffee. And pasta," Angela announced nonplussed, as if Cavanaugh had told her Jane had decided to tackle a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle.

Angela set off back towards the cafe, and was back in half an hour with a tray-full of sustenance, nearly colliding with her son as Frankie struggled through the door with an armful of new boxes. Jane pounced on him immediately and had the boxes open before he could even set them down.

"Ow! Easy Janie, just give me a second would you!"

"Who wants coffee?" Angela called loudly. "Donuts? Spaghetti?"

Eager detectives swarmed around her while Jane sat down in the middle of the floor with the new boxes, pouring through the files already.

"Coffee Janie," her mother said, carefully placing the cup into her outstretched hand.

"Thanks Ma," Jane didn't even look up.

Her mother shook her head but didn't say anything, heading back into the throng of hungry officers to set aside some of the food for Jane.

"Hey Korsak, who's Steve MacAuley?" Jane called out. "His name keeps coming up but I haven't seen him tied directly to any murders, no drug deals, nothing."

"Not even a parking ticket," Frost's muffled voice came from the computer room- he'd scooted quickly back to his post but not before clamping a donut between his teeth and grabbing a couple more for the road.

"He's high up in Doyle's circle," Korsak said soberly. "We could never find his prints on anything, but you can bet he knows all about Paddy Doyle's dealings. They go way back- their fathers works on the docks together when _they _were young. The Doyles and the MacAuleys have always been tight."

"That him?" Jane pointed at the wall-monitor in Frost's room, clambering to her feet and heading over to where Steve MacAuley stared back from a not-so-covertly taken surveillance picture.

Korsak followed her and regarded the man projected onto the wall.

"Yup, that's him."

"I know that guy- he was there the night Peters died," Jane said, still staring at the picture. "He was driving the vehicle that took Maura."

Korsak and Frost exchanged a look.

"Well I guess that would make sense," Korsak said slowly. "MacAuley was always loyal to Paddy Doyle."

"And Maura is technically a Doyle," Agent Dean's voice cut into the quiet of the computer room.

Jane whipped around to see him lurking in the doorway.

"We knew she had to be working with someone," he continued.

"We don't know _anything_," Jane interjected with barely-contained fury. "We could fill up a board twice that size with all the things we _don't _know about Maura's situation right now!" she indicated the suspect board in the other room, which was now in fact four separate boards that had been lined up next to one another.

Agent Dean walked nonchalantly into the main office and regarded their day's work.

"Impressive," he noted in a tone that seemed calculated to hide any genuine surprise.

"Yeah well, the FBI wasn't being exactly forthcoming with their intel, so we had to get creative," Jane shot back as she followed after him, standing combatively with her hands on her hips.

"I'm working on that, Jane," Agent Dean said, somewhat apologetically. "You think the bureaucracy is bad at Boston PD? Getting clearance for inter-agency intelligence sharing takes time."

Jane gave a derisive snort and pointed her finger at him, gearing up to launch into a tirade of condescending takedowns.

But she didn't get the chance. At that moment Frankie burst into the office, panting hard like he'd just run up ten flights of stairs.

"A cop's been shot!" he announced to the room.

Everyone fell silent immediately and turned to stare at him as he continued. "The Doyle clan's territory. Or I mean Ferguson's," he corrected himself. "By the docks."

He didn't manage to get out any more details before everyone was grabbing jackets and badges and guns and running for the door.

Agent Dean watched the room clear out in seconds, and then slowly turned back to the board. He regarded the detailed map of faces, names, nicknames, ranks, and the web of differently coloured string that wove them all together, illustrating the complex connections. Then he picked up a lone picture from Jane's desk, walked to the board that hosted the Doyle clan, and pinned it in the centre. Picking up a pen, he neatly wrote a label underneath: Maura Doyle.

"Like it or not, Jane," he said to himself softly, "she's right in the middle of all this."

* * *

Across town, a car pulled up quickly to a darkened warehouse. An older man stepped out and walked around the vehicle to open the passenger door. Maura Doyle stepped out, nodding her thanks to the man as she strode quickly inside, followed by a stumbling younger man who was covered in blood.

She could hear the sirens wailing in the distance, tearing towards the docks. Towards the crime scene. Towards the body of a dead officer.

"Hurry," she instructed. "We don't have much time."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Aw you guys- I got some really lovely feedback and so many follows after the last chapter- I am so encouraged to write! **

**Also, I'm not a Boston native, so I'm guessing about a lot of geography and history from my limited knowledge. Maybe I'll try and flesh that stuff out in a later version, but for now I'm guessing you guys are mostly here for the Rizzles anyways? This is a long installment, but no Jane and Maura reunion yet- soon though, it's coming!**

**TW: Gun violence/trauma, cop killing, blood, verbal abuse (family)  
**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Maura quickly gathered her belongings from her room in the warehouse- grabbing the overnight bag that was always already packed and stowing her computer inside it, alongside the wads of cash she had withdrawn when she first went on the run. There were a couple of pictures on the desk which she had managed to keep with her through her many moves and changing locations; they usually lived in her wallet, but she took them out and placed them on the desk beside her sometimes as she worked. It was nice to have them with her, but she would often forget to actually look at them, and sometimes needed that- to remind her of what she was trying to get back to. An old faded photo of her at ten years old, with her parents, vacationing in the Alps; a snap of the Rizzoli family at her house for thanksgiving dinner; a candid shot that Frankie had taken of she and Jane after they finally finished the Boston Marathon, late in the evening after solving a murder on the fly. She quickly swept them into the open bag, along with the file on Colin Ferguson that she had stolen from Paddy Doyle's office.

That damn file- she'd made no headway with the information it contained in the month since she had managed to retrieve it. She had laid plans, she had investigated, she had thought non-stop of ways to get rid of Colin Ferguson. But it all hinged on figuring out what dirt Paddy had gathered on him, and the meaning behind the information in the file remained elusive. It was only a list of names, none of which she recognised, and neither did Steve.

She had spent hours online searching through news reports for any mention of the people named, but to no avail. She wished she could access Boston PD's databases- she had the clearance, but they would know immediately when she logged in, and she would be traceable; Frost would track her down in no time. She couldn't even get to Paddy to ask him about it- there were gang members and police looking for her everywhere. She was in a precarious position, trying to operate outside the law, but not breaking it, and the balancing act was proving increasingly difficult. Somehow, staying alive- and staying hidden in order to do so- had itself become a fulltime job. She needed more time to figure out what to do. Maybe there would be time now... after today.

The night had started out so placidly. She had been going through the list for what seemed like the thousandth time, trying to come up with new ways to approach the names- new avenues of research, or maybe even a way to get into the law enforcement databases. She'd been hoping to catch a break, but it came in a form she could never have anticipated, nor would she ever have wished for it.

Steve had come upstairs after the rest of the employees had clocked out for the day, letting her know he was going to lock up.

"Making any progress?" he had asked.

"None," she had sighed, setting down her pen and rubbing her eyes before leaning back in her chair to stretch out her limbs, which were starting to cramp from sitting so long.

"Maybe I can get out to Cedar Junction on the weekend, ask Paddy about it directly," Steve suggested.

"Perhaps," she replied noncommittally, knowing that her father was being closely monitored in the maximum security prison, and Steve's visit would draw attention, alerting investigators and gang members alike to Steve's presence, and perhaps the renewed scrutiny would reveal his connection to Maura.

"We've known each other a long time," Steve said, guessing her thoughts. "Nothing unusual about old friends reconnecting."

They didn't have the opportunity to discuss the matter further, as Steve's phone started to ring. He frowned as he recognized the number on the display, and excused himself to answer. Maura smiled to herself at his manners; Steve MacAuley was a man with little formal education and some questionable connections, and he had a keener sense of polite behaviour and decorum than most of the men she interacted with on a daily basis in her normal life. There was no sense of entitlement about him; only- bizarrely, given the circles in which he moved- a strong sense of justice, and of right and wrong.

But her smile faded as she caught the change in his tone, and his rising voice.

"No! No don't come here! You cannot come here, do you understand me? Connor! Connor?"

Whoever was on the other end of the call had hung up.

Maura was watching his expression intently. The older man was visibly agitated, and she moved to put a reassuring hand on his arm.

"Steve?" she asked gently. "What's going on?"

"My nephew," he explained, shaking his head in disbelief. "He shot someone. He thinks it was a cop... He's coming here-"

Steve didn't get another word out, as the gloom was shattered by the piercing headlights of a car pulling up at speed into the warehouse parking lot. He looked horrified, and seeing his reaction, Maura felt truly afraid for the first time since the man had taken her under his wing. Steve's steady pace and unflappable appearance had been reassuring while everything else had seemed so uncertain. Now she saw a look she had never seen on him before: panic.

The older man was racing down the stairs and out into the darkness with a speed that surprised Maura as she ran hard on his heels. They reached the car together where it was parked haphazardly in front of the main doors, headlights still on, doors flung open. A young man, no older than twenty-one, was struggling with something behind the rear door.

With some_one_.

As Maura approached she saw the body of a blood-soaked man lying in the back seat. She felt her stomach drop like a stone as she recognised the blue uniform, and caught the glint of a badge on his chest. He was a cop. And he was still alive.

"You have to help me!" Connor was yelling through choked sobs. "Please, Uncle Steve! He's gonna kill me. I screwed up so bad- he'll kill me if he finds out!"

"_I'm_ gonna kill you!" Steve thundered. "What the hell have you done? You brought a dead cop into _my house_?"

"He's not dead," Maura said in a small voice, but Steve didn't seem to hear.

Connor did, however, and he jerked to attention. "She's a doctor!" he shouted, pointing wildly at Maura. "She can fix him! You have to fix him!"

"I can't," Maura said incredulously, stepping around the boy to get a better look at the man in the back of the car. "He's very badly injured. This man needs surgery- he needs to go to a hospital, now!"

"I can't take him to a hospital!" the boy wailed. "Can't you do something?"

"No she can't!" growled Steve menacingly, pushing his nephew back against the car. "And you either have some nerve or you're just plain stupid to come down here and bring this mess to my door after everything you've done. You walked out on this family. You made your choice. Why don't you go and ask Colin Ferguson for help?"

Maura's head jerked up at the mention of Ferguson.

"I didn't chose sides- it wasn't about choosing! I didn't think there was a side to choose! Paddy Doyle was gone, and Ferguson was in charge. It was time- time for a change."

"I taught you better than that," Steve shook his head dismissively at Connor's pleading. "I taught you about honor, and loyalty. What Ferguson is doing is dirty and underhanded, and it's men like you that are allowing him to do it. You made your bed. You'd better lie in it."

"He'll kill me," Conner slumped back, dejected. "There'll be no forgiveness. He'll kill me for this. It was an accident, but he won't care. All he'll care about is that I shot a cop on his streets. It'll come back on him. Unless he gets rid of me..."

Maura was watching the scene unfold in silent horror. The officer was going to die- there was nothing she could do for him here, and he wouldn't make it to a hospital in time to save him. She was filled with impotent rage. She wanted to scream at this stupid boy who had shot an innocent man. But what good would it do? He was no better off- not if Colin Ferguson found out. He was a dead man walking. So many lives ruined by the actions of one power-hungry man.

She crouched down next to the officer in the car and felt his neck for a pulse. There was none. She let out a slow breath as she carefully closed the man's eyes.

"Oh no," Connor watched her, horrified. "No, no NO! This can't be happening! What am I gonna do? He's gonna kill me! There's a dead cop in his car!"

"What?!" Maura snapped to attention. "What did you just say?"

She was back on her feet in a moment and seemed to tower over the young man, who was now rather less hysterical and fairly humbled by the authority with with Maura addressed him.

"Yea..." he began haltingly. "I drive for Ferguson. This is one of his cars. I drove him earlier today. Well, for part of the day, just to meetings; he drove himself back."

"Colin Ferguson drives this car?" Maura clarified. "He was seen driving it today?" She was looking at him intently as he nodded in confirmation, squirming under the fierceness of her gaze.

"Tell me everything," she instructed.

In a few minutes, under Maura's careful questioning, she had established that Ferguson maintained several vehicles, none registered to him, which he drove or was driven in at various times. Earlier that day, he had attended a meeting to which he had not wished to be followed by the FBI surveillance team who were tracking his every move. So, as was his custom, he had been driven by Connor to another location, at which another car- the very one which was now covered in the recently-spilled blood of Boston's finest- was waiting. He discretely switched vehicles and continued on to his private meeting alone. Connor had then picked the car up later that day and headed down to the docks to engage in his own illicit activities. While parked illegally, the car had drawn the attention of a police officer. Connor had noticed this on returning to the car and panicked.

Connor's hysterics returned as he reached the last part of the story. It seemed that his erratic behaviour had further drawn the suspicion of the officer, who had attempted to question Connor. Weapons had been drawn, shots fired, and the cop went down. Realizing the gravity of his actions, Connor had done what he could for the man, before dragging him into the car and driving as fast as he could to the one person who might still be on his side, trusting that family still meant something to his uncle.

This had all occurred within the last thirty minutes, Maura was busy calculating. It was possible no one had yet discovered the officer was missing.

"Did anyone see you? Was anyone around to hear the gunfire?" she prodded.

"No" he shook his head vehemently. "No I didn't see anyone down there- the docks are mostly deserted these days. People don't wanna be caught out on the streets at night with the way things have been going."

"What are you thinking, Maura?" Steve eyed her uncertainly.

"Ferguson drove this car; his prints will be all over it. We have a dead officer who was shot in Ferguson's territory. There's no witnesses that we know of, and Ferguson has no idea that this has happened."

"You're not thinking- we can't frame him!" Steve was incredulous. "This is a cop! Boston PD will be all over this. They'll find out the truth. The evidence-"

But Maura quickly cut him off.

"I am the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. The evidence will say whatever I want it to."

This man's death would not be in vain.

Working a crime scene backwards was an unfamiliar exercise, but it didn't take much of a mental leap for Maura think through the logistics. She quickly formulated a list of supplies and sent Steve to gather them while she went over the dead officer's body for trace evidence using the rudimentary tools she had at her disposal. Signs of Connor were everywhere- she could read his panicked actions on the man's clothes and, though she didn't have the time to examine him too closely, she suspected his body would show bruising consistent with someone having applied pressure to stop the bleeding, and from having tried to revive the man. There wasn't much she could do to mask _how _he died, but she could influence a retelling of _who_ had killed him.

The next couple of hours were a flurry of activity. They hosed down the car and wiped it to get rid of most of the prints, Maura careful to leave enough evidence, but not too much; just pointers would allow Boston homicide to begin reconstructing the narrative without feeling that it was being told to them. Hints that would allow Jane to make the connections that were always so clear to her, even if the evidence didn't say so _conclusively_. She would guess, and Maura would make sure the evidence supported her guesses.

They hurried back to the scene where the officer had been shot, knowing that they were short on time, mindful that when he was reported missing the police would begin the search at his last known location. Maura carefully ensured that they removed any trace of evidence that Connor had been there. Then they raced back to the warehouse to lay out the dead officer in a way that seemed calculated to send a message.

"Hurry," Maura instructed, hearing the sirens in the distance and knowing the officer's abandoned car must have already been discovered- that they knew he was missing. "We don't have much time."

The implications of her actions were beginning to sink in. Interfering with a crime scene, falsifying evidence, accessory to murder... this was not an attractive resume. She'd compromised so much in the last few months, she was starting to lose sight of herself, and she did not like the person she was becoming.

"Do you have the murder weapon?' she asked Connor, pushing these suffocating thoughts from her mind and forcing herself to focus on the situation at hand.

"What?" He had been in a daze all evening, clearly having no idea what they were doing, or if it would work, or why Maura was doing it at all. He just followed orders, and followed behind his uncle, casting wary and uncertain looks at the doctor as she worked her mysterious science.

"The gun," Maura clarified irritably.

He quickly produced it and Maura wiped it down, erasing his prints.

"Wear gloves," she instructed him, "and take this with you to see Ferguson tomorow. You need to get it into his building- can you do that?"

He shook his head uncertainly. "They- they make us check our guns and phones at the door. No one goes in armed."

"That's good," she said, nodding to herself. "Leave it there."

"Wha-?"

"When you check your gun!" Maura raised her voice impatiently. Connor's ineptitude was beginning to grate on her. "Don't pick it up again. Leave it at Ferguson's office."

"Ok..." he replied in slow understanding. "Then what?"

"Then we wait. Drive the car back to Ferguson's, and leave it in its place. The police will come before long. Until then, you just go about your business as usual."

"And then what? When they find the car, Ferguson will know I was the last one driving it. He'll tell the cops. Or he'll have me killed!"

"You come to me," Steve said firmly. "When the police come to search Ferguson's place, you leave as soon as you can and come directly to me. I'll say you were with me all evening. You came for dinner. We laid to rest old grudges; made peace."

"When they arrest Ferguson, you won't have to worry about him coming after you," Maura assured him. "The police will think he killed a cop. The FBI will be all over this. No one in his circle will be able to so much as park in the wrong place without it being reported. Now go on."

Connor nodded, and loitered uncertainly for a moment, staring at the gun in his hand.

"Go!" Maura snapped finally, and he jumped into action, pocketing the weapon, hopping in the newly cleaned car, peeling out of the lot and heading into the night.

Maura watched him go, now uncertain herself. The wheels had been set in motion; there was no time for hesitation, no place for doubt.

"Go and get your things," Steve prompted her gently.

She nodded, rousing from her reverie, and hurried inside. She packed quickly, and was back outside with Steve in minutes. Wordlessly, she got into his car and he drove her through the dark, quiet streets, pulling up outside an Irish pub on the ground floor of an old brick apartment building.

"Danny will get you set up," he said, nodding over at the bar. Soft light streamed from the windows that were frosted with condensation, and muffled music, smoke, and laughter poured through the crack in the door as it sat slightly ajar.

She nodded, but didn't move. "Will you be alright?" she asked finally, looking into his eyes with concern.

He smiled gently, his face softening in a way she had only seen when he spoke to her. He reminded her again of Korsak, and she struggled against the memory, trying to keep the two worlds separate in her mind; trying to keep her two _lives _separate.

"Don't you worry about me," he patted her hand reassuringly. "I can handle the cops."

She nodded, and gathering her things, stepped out onto the street. Since she had been in hiding, only Steve had officially known who and where she was. He was the only one she had trusted. Now all that was about to change. She eyed the bar warily. It was an old Irish hangout; a place her father, Paddy Doyle, had spent many an evening with Steve and with his men. These people were loyal to Paddy, and so they would be loyal to her. Still, her heart was heavy as she walked unwillingly into the bar. With each step she moved further away from Maura Isles. As she pulled open the door, the rowdy conversation lulled and then died as the bar's inhabitants turned to look at her. She took a breath, and stepped into her new life, as Maura Doyle.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This is a bit of a long one, but I hope it's still enjoyable. Thanks for your patience!**

**Also, I went through and added trigger warnings because I'd rather be too careful. If you find something triggering I apologize- let me know and I'll tag appropriately.**

**TW: Cop killing, reference to gang violence, threat of violence**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Jane stalked back and forth impatiently in front of the warehouse gates. It was 6am, they'd been out all night, and she hadn't had any coffee yet.

Warehouse employees milled around on the other side of the police barriers that had been set up in front of the gates, marking the periphery of the crime scene. They'd spent the last four hours scouring the neighborhood for the officer's body, or any sign of foul play. The squad car had been located quickly by his colleagues on patrol, and not far away they'd discovered blood- a lot of it- tire tracks, and shell casings. A drunk in a nearby alley had reported hearing shots, but couldn't tell them much more.

The body had only been discovered ten minutes' drive from the original crime scene, but it had taken them hours of walking the streets to get to it. Then there he was- laid out like he was gift-wrapped in front of the locked gates to an old storage warehouse, clearly meant to send a message, although to whom was unclear.

What Jane _did _know was that there were now two separate crime scenes, both of which needed processing, and a dead cop. She had taken the body dump site, while Frost managed the site of the shooting, and Korsak acted as a liaison between the two. Cavanaugh was preparing to meet with the press, and showed up unannounced at intervals to impress upon everyone the gravity of this situation.

As if they needed to be told. Everyone was on edge- when it was one of their own, the dangers of the job were really brought home. And if they didn't solve the murder, it would send the message that maybe you didn't have to obey the law; that you could get away with killing a cop. Palpable tension filled the air as officers patrolled the barricades, snarling unsympathetically at warehouse employees who dared to ask whether they might be allowed into work today, or commented on needing to get paid.

The warehouse was right on the edge of Colin Ferguson's territory, although it was somewhat questionable to even call it that- the business belonged to Steve MacAuley, a longtime associate of Paddy Doyle, which made this particular part of town contested territory at best.

Steve MacAuley- Jane's eyes had widened as she'd heard the owner's name confirmed from an employee, surprised, and yet somewhere in the back of her mind anticipating the connection. Of course it was MacAuley- his name had come up and again and again as she'd mapped out the Doyle clan. In what was clearly a turf war, a message being sent from one crime boss to another, of course he would be right in the middle of it.

Well, in the middle metaphorically speaking. Where he was physically was a mystery. Uniforms had gone to his house when the scene was discovered, but he wasn't home. Workers had begun showing up at 5:30 to start their shift, and he had yet to join them. Jane was getting increasingly antsy; she needed questions answered. She also had crime scenes to process, and the tension from the other officers was getting close to bubbling over. But that meant it was all the more important to ensure things were done by the book- the last thing they needed was to have someone cut a corner, break chain of custody, or get a little too heated, and allow a cop-killer go free. The responsibility weighed heavily on her. And now with Steve MacAuley bringing a hint of Maura into the mix…

Where was the old man anyway? And why was there never a goddamn coffeeshop when she needed one?

As if summoned by her wish, Frankie was at her side with two large steaming takeout cups. He would usually stomp and pout about professionalism if his big sister ever asked him to go get coffee. But she didn't ask. He had seen the tension in her shoulders and the concern in her eyes when she'd heard Steve MacAuley's name, and he was worried for her. Plus he knew how much was riding on this case, and what she was like in the morning before coffee.

She gratefully took his offering. "Where is this asshole?" she muttered as she managed to keep herself still long enough to take a sip.

"Take a breath, Jane," Frankie put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We've got a BOLO out on him. We've got the highways covered. If he tries to leave Boston we'll find him."

"No," she shook her head. "He's not gonna run. This isn't him," she indicated the crime scene. "He didn't do this. This is a message _to _him."

"Well then you'll give him that message as soon as he gets to work. You've got this, Jane."

"Yea, I know," she said with forced confidence, but she half-smiled at him, thankful for the unquestioning way he looked up to her, as he had since they were children. He always had faith in her, even when she lacked it in herself.

Just then a car pulled up, and from the reaction of the workers, Jane knew who it was before she could even see his face. A gray-haired man stepped slowly from the vehicle, pausing to look over to the gathering of cops. His eyes met Jane's. No, he _looked _for her; his eyes _found _hers. He closed the car door, and made his way towards her.

"Steve MacAuley." She said it not as a question but as a statement of fact. "I'm Detective Rizzoli, Boston Homicide."

He nodded, unsurprised that she knew him, though not acknowledging that he knew her.

"You took your sweet time getting to work this morning," Jane prodded, poker-faced.

He mirrored her lack of emotion. "Had I know that all of Boston's finest were waiting for me, I'd have planned a welcome.

"Would you," Jane narrowed her eyes. "You think the death of a police officer is cause for celebration?"

"I wasn't aware an officer was dead. My condolences."

He was clearly not sincere, but he wasn't being sarcastic or deliberately provocative, Jane realised. He was simply... unsurprised. Or deliberately appearing unperturbed so as to keep up appearances in front of his men.

Jane cast a wary eye at the crowd, realizing that it had fallen silent and all eyes were on them. Whatever he knew- or didn't know- about the murder or about Maura, he wasn't going to say anything out here.

"Can we talk privately?" she asked quietly. She knew he wouldn't like being seen talking to the cops, but she also knew he wouldn't say what she needed him to out here. She had to at least create the opportunity for him to speak candidly.

His eyes swept over her once, appraising her as he appeared to weigh the risks and his options.

"Follow me," he said finally, and lead the way into the warehouse.

"Keep an eye on things out here?" Jane murmured to her brother, who nodded as he watched her follow MacAuley inside.

The building was silent, and their steps echoed about the cavernous interior.

"Pretty empty in here," Jane noted. "Business slow?"

He registered the implication; that this was perhaps not a real business at all, but just a front for other activities. He did not acknowledge the assumption.

"It's been tough in this economy."

He unlocked the door to his office and pushed it open for her. She glanced over at a stairway to the left which lead up to another floor, and what looked like another office above.

"What's up there?"

"Storage. Old files," he replied vaguely. "How can I help you, detective?"

Most men in his position would say 'officer'; would try to undermine her authority through not-so-subtle digs. But he seemed almost… respectful of her. Almost. Perhaps he was simply trying not to give her any reason to push him further.

"Where were you between the hours of midnight and 5am?" she didn't waste any time.

"Asleep."

"Can anyone verify that?"

He chuckled to himself in a way that suddenly reminded her of Korsak. She pushed the mental image away.

"Sadly no. I'm an old man. The days of sharing a bed are long-gone."

"I doubt a man of your standing in this- ah- 'community', would have any trouble finding a companion," Jane needled him.

He shrugged. "Call me old-fashioned. I grew up in the days of courtship and romance. I also have rheumatoid arthritis, back problems, and a hernia. So I can't show a lady much excitement."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "A lotta guys in your position wouldn't be too concerned about a _lady's_ excitement, so much as their own."

He smiled at her. "Like I said, I'm old fashioned. And with my various ailments, I'm sure you can understand that I also didn't spend last night hauling around your dead officer for use as a prop in this ridiculous piece of theatre."

"A little macabre for your taste?"

He snorted derisively.

"Who does this look like to you then? This is a message, right? And I can only assume, since he's in front of your place of business, that it was intended for you? Why do you think that might be?"

He remained impassive. "Let's cut the bullshit, shall we detective? You know who I am; you know where my allegiances lie. And you know that certain folks have fallen out of favour with other folks around here."

"Paddy Doyle and Colin Ferguson," she filled in the blanks.

He nodded.

"Ferguson's trying to rattle you."

He turned squarely towards her. "Do I seem rattled, detective?"

His use of her title was becoming rather less respectful and had begun to carry an edge of mockery. Jane set her jaw determindly. They were both talking in vague terms but they were fully aware of what, or more precisely _who_, they were really speaking.

"No. You seem quite unshaken. Unsurprised; like maybe you were expecting this," she pushed, trying to trip him into admitting that it was Ferguson who had brought this attention on him- into admitting _why _Ferguson would have done that.

"I've been around a long time. Very little surprises me any more," he said with a shrug.

He wasn't going to mention Ferguson, much less Maura. They may not be on the same side, but in this case their interests were aligned. But he clearly wasn't going to acknowledge that, and his careless and offhanded demeanor grated on Jane.

"Mind if I look around?" she indicated the rest of the warehouse.

"Be my guest."

She left the office and scanned the giant empty space, before turning again to the stairs to the left. "What did you say was up here?"

She remembered well enough what he had said before, but she gave him the opportunity to open up anyway.

He didn't take it. "Just old files."

She took the stairs two at a time and was in the dusty, dark room in no time. She flicked the light switch and the fluorescent overhead bulbs buzzed into life. As her eyes adjusted to the otherworldly glow, she took in the boxes of dusty files piled up against the wall, just as MacAuley had said. But then, on the far side of the room… a small bed, with clean sheets and neatly made. Jane felt the jolt of recognition as she saw it. This was Maura's room. Undoubtedly. She couldn't say exactly why; it was something about the way that area was kept so neatly; how the files and boxes had been carefully shuffled out of the way; the practical layout of the room- minimalist, only what was needed, everything in its proper place.

She pushed open a door to her left and found herself in a small washroom- clean again as before, in stark contrast to the rest of the warehouse; you could eat out of the sink, Jane thought, observing the startling white tile, set into a wooden cabinet. The room was empty, but something that had fallen down the side of the basin caught Jane's eye. She leaned down and reached in with one arm, bracing her shoulder against the cupboard and scrabbling with her outstretched hand until it came into contact with something spiky. A hairbrush. Long dark hair was caught in the teeth of the brush. Jane quickly pulled an evidence bag from her pocket and dropped the brush inside.

"Jane?"

She nearly hit the ceiling as Korsak appeared beside her.

"Jesus!" she hissed. "Don't sneak up on people like that!"

"I'm light-footed," he replied, ignoring her raised eyebrow as she stared incredulously at his less-than-stellar-physique. "What?"

"Nothing," she shook her head, trying not to laugh.

"What you got there?"

"Maura's hairbrush," she held it up to show him.

"Maura's?"

"Yeah," she led him back into the main room. "Look at this place. She stayed here- MacAuley was hiding her. And that's why Ferguson dumped a dead cop on his doorstep- to flush her out. It makes complete sense."

He eyed her doubtfully. "You sure that's hers?" he asked, indicating the evidence bag.

"DNA will confirm," Jane said confidently. "And while Suzie's testing it, I say we bring ol' Steve down to the station for a little chat."

* * *

"Who was living upstairs?" Jane slammed her palms down on the interrogation table.

MacAuley didn't flinch. "I have no idea."

"You have no idea?" she repeated incredulously. "You didn't notice someone living in the office space in your own place of business?"

He merely shrugged. "I never have cause to go up there these days. It's all just old files."

Jane could feel her frustration about to bubble over. She'd been at this for two hours already, and Steve MacAuley hadn't given anything up. She'd done the softly softly approach, played up the camaraderie, inferred the offering of all kinds of carrots and finally resorted to the stick, but to no avail. He was not intimidated by her, and she was at the end of her rope. She took a steadying breath.

"We're running DNA from the office; we know it will come back as a match for Maura Isles."

"Well you'll have your answer then," he replied simply.

Jane snapped.

"Where is Maura?" she yelled, slamming her palms on the table again.

"Jane-"

She whipped around to see that Korsak had appeared in the doorway. With a quick nod he indicated that she should follow him outside. She gave MacAuley one last hard look and followed after Korsak.

"We gotta cut him loose," Korsak said as soon as the door closed behind them, and he quickly held up a hand to quiet Jane's splutterings of disbelieving protest. "We've got nothing on him, and a whole bunch of other witnesses to interview from the two crime scenes. I know you want to find Maura, but we've got a cop-killer out there and Cavanaugh wants every available officer investigating."

"That's exactly what I _am _doing, Korsak!" she muttered impatiently, raking a hand through her hair and then pointing assertively back towards the interview room. "He is right in the middle of all this."

"That may be, but he isn't giving us anything, and his lawyer's just showed up and is about to spring him loose anyway."

She swallowed a cry of frustration as Korsak pulled his best sympathetic face.

"We'll find her, Jane," he told her reassuringly, before heading back towards the elevators.

She took a breath to compose herself, and reentered the interview room.

"Well, it looks like our conversation is over," she informed MacAuley tersely, swinging the door wide. "You're free to go."

He slowly rose to his feet and started towards the door when she impulsively swung it closed again and took a determined step towards him. She thought she saw him falter briefly, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Just tell me one thing," she asked, drawing herself up to her full height and calmly holding his gaze. "Is she alive?"

She steeled herself for the answer, and he looked curiously back, as if trying to make up his mind about her. Then his face softened.

"I was there the day she was born you know," he told her quietly. "Paddy and I were working at the docks when he got the call. We were just starting our shift in the morning, and he rushed straight to the hospital- I told him it would be a while, but he wanted to be there. When my wife went into labour with our daughter, it took nearly 48 hours for her to put in an appearance. That's very like Helena though; she likes to keep everyone waiting and then make an entrance. Not like Maura; she was never one to be a bother. A quick and easy labour and she was ready to join the world by lunchtime. My daughter, she wailed like a banshee all day and all night for months; she could never get enough attention. But Maura was good as gold."

Jane listened in rapt silence at this unsolicited confession. He had a slightly faraway look in his eyes, like he was speaking more for himself than for her, and a smile played at the corner of his mouth as he relived the memory.

"It broke his heart to give her up. But he knew _that _life was no life for a child. It wasn't the life either of us would have chosen for ourselves, let alone our families. My daughter stayed with me until she was five years old, and when her mother left and took her to live with relatives in England, I could have stopped her, but I chose not to. She didn't have the opportunities that Maura's had, but she had better than I could offer her here. She went to university- the first in my family to have an education. She's a lawyer now. And Maura- she has become such a fine and accomplished woman. She is very intelligent; very resourceful."

His reference to Maura in the present tense gave Jane hope. But before she could question him further he suddenly seemed to rouse himself from his reverie and remember where he was, turning to face her squarely.

"Please excuse the self-indulgence of an old man," he said with a sheepish shrug. "The further away from my youth I get, the more time I seem to spend thinking of the past."

Jane caught herself starting to smile at him, before remembering that he was a suspect, and carefully frowning instead.

"Paddy and I spent a lot of time in those days, commiserating and celebrating and scheming at an old Irish bar called Doolin's- you know it? It's been around for going on forty years now."

Jane nodded.

"Excellent whiskey selection," he smiled at her, and then he gave her a significant look. "And they make a first-rate filet mignon."

"At Doolin's?" she pulled an incredulous face. "The greasy old steak and fries place?"

He smiled again and raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes you get the best food in the places you'd least expect it. You'd be surprised the gems you can find in a place like that."

She looked quizzically at him and was just opening her mouth to respond when the interview room door burst open, and a tall, pale woman with cascading black hair was suddenly before them.

"Oh there you are!" she addressed MacAuley familiarly in a clipped English accent. "They told me you were free to go, but it did seem to be taking rather a long time considering you were just being shown out." She turned to Jane and appraised her skeptically. "Is there a problem, officer?"

Jane bristled at the slight, and at this woman's offhanded and yet commanding demeanour.

"That was my fault, dear," MacAuley responded quickly. "The old limbs just don't move as quickly as they used to."

She crossed her arms and pulled a face like she didn't believe a word of it. "Well, so long as you're up and moving now, shall we get on?"

He inclined his head in acquiescence, and she turned on her heel pausing briefly to address Jane again.

"Thank you officer….?"

"_Detective_ Rizzoli," Jane replied through clenched teeth. "And you are?"

"His lawyer," she flashed Jane a brilliant smile, "Helena MacAuley."

And with that she tossed her black mane and strode away, heels clicking loudly on the laminate floor as Steve MacAuley followed behind her.

* * *

Jane could barely focus on the rest of the interviews that afternoon. No one from the warehouse was talking, of course, they just sat staring at her in stony silence. And the only 'witness' they had from the scene of the shooting was a drunk who may or may not have heard shots being fired, and thought that he might have seen a red BMW drive by shortly after.

Jane sat at her desk that evening, rubbing her eyes tiredly and looking at the mess on the evidence board- the fifth of its kind to be wheeled in and stood next to the others which displayed the sprawling map of Boston's crime families.

But it wasn't just the volume of information to sift through, or the tensions in the department over the death of a cop, or how late it was in the day and how little sleep she'd gotten in the last 24 hours. Something that MacAuley had said was nagging at her; the way he had talked about Doolin's. She remembered the bar; she had been there once a long time ago. It was your typical dirty Irish pub- she was pretty sure the kitchen consisted of a deep frier and a microwave. Almost certainly none of the regulars would even be able to identify filet mignon, much less have sampled it at that fair establishment.

So why would MacAuley have said that?

"Frost, I'm gonna call it a night," she said suddenly, grabbing her jacket and keys as her tired partner looked up from his computer.

"Good idea," he responded. "I might head home myself. You need a ride?"

"Nah I'm good," she replied, already heading out the door. "I'm gonna stop somewhere for food on my way home anyways."

* * *

The bar was exactly where she remembered it; on an old street of largely boarded up storefronts and apartment buildings. Everything was quiet but for the noise of muffled chatter and music that drifted towards her as she approached the double doors.

The chatter fell silent almost immediately as she pulled the doors open and entered. The place was dim and dank, and a fog of cigarette smoke, ash, and stale beer hung thickly in the air. She looked around warily as all heads swiveled to stare at her. Squaring her shoulders, she walked purposefully towards the bar, and pulled out a seat. The wood of the bar was worn and sticky; she pretended not to notice, focusing on the approaching bartender who eyed her curiously as she sat down.

"Can I help you?" the man asked. He was youngish, but with weathered skin and rough hands which he was wiping on a dirty rag. Rows of half-empty bottles of spirits lined the wall behind him, glistening as they caught the light from dusty overhead lamps.

"Yes," Jane replied with forced confidence. "I would like to order some food."

"Kitchen's closed," he asked curtly, clearly preferring that Jane take her business elsewhere.

"Aw really?" she whined in exaggerated disappointment. "That sucks- I was really hoping you'd be able to help me out. See, I heard that you guys have just the best fillet mignon."

He looked like she'd just said she wanted a plate of lightly braised eyeballs.

"Where'd you hear that?" he kept his voice steady.

"Steve MacAuley made the recommendation," she replied evenly, trying to ignore the sound of her pulse hammering in her head.

The bar was eerily silent, and she knew that all eyes were on her. She was also keenly aware that she had come here alone, and not even mentioned to anyone where she was going, much less why. Stupid, careless- she cursed herself. Well it was too late now. The bartender was eyeing her warily, trying to make up his mind.

"MacAuley sent you?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yup!" she said brightly, watching him carefully as she spoke. "I saw him and his _enchanting _daughter Helena just this morning, and he said, Jane, if you are ever at Doolin's you must try the food- it doesn't look like much, but sometimes you find the best things where you least expect them."

The bartender gave her one last calculating look, and then turned to a grizzled old man seated beside Jane. "Watch the bar," he instructed, before indicating that she should follow him.

He lead her past tables of silently watching eyes, out the back, and into the kitchen. He held his hand up for her to wait, turning towards an ancient service elevator and picking up the receiver of an old telephone that was mounted on the wall beside it. The persistent knots in Jane's stomach were rapidly giving way to bursts of adrenaline and cold sweat as she tried to make out his hushed conversation. It was foolish of her to come here alone- what had she been thinking? She had just waltzed into an old Irish mob bar, clearly identifiable as a cop, and basically told them Steve MacAuley would vouch for her. Well if anyone called her on that bluff, things could go very badly for her.

The elevator suddenly creaked and rattled into life, moving slowly down to the main floor. The bartender hung up the phone and- with some effort- pulled back the stiff elevator gate to allow them entrance. Swallowing hard, she followed him inside and watched him heave the iron gate back into place and press a button. The elevator whined into life again.

The time it took for them to ascend was time enough for Jane to imagine all manner of scenarios that she might be about to walk into, and not one of them was pleasant. There was nowhere to run; no easy way out. She was as trapped in this building as she was in this elevator, which continued up and up on it's long journey. Somewhere in the back of her panicked mind she remembered that the bar was on the ground level of an apartment building, and it seemed that they must be heading for the top floor.

Well, up was better than down- to some dingy basement out of sight, or into a waiting car, to be whisked away. If they were going to take her out, they probably wouldn't do it here.

The elevator finally shuddered and stopped. The bartender heaved the gate open again, and Jane found herself looking out into a dimly lit but nicely furnished apartment- much more nicely furnished than she would ever have imagined given the appearance of the bar downstairs. The floors were polished hardwood, the layout was open-plan, and large windows looked out across Boston harbour's glistening lights.

The bartender gave her a small nudge and she span quickly to face him. He seemed surprised at her sudden hesitance, and he nodded to indicate that she should exit the elevator. She did so warily, and he quickly dragged the gate closed behind her. She stood frozen, listening to the groaning of the elevator as it began its long descent, and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the low light that emanated from a few lamps in far corners of the room.

The sound of heels on the hardwood to her left caused her to turn quickly- and then she saw her.

"Maura?"

"Hi Jane."

* * *

**A/N: They'll actually talk in the next chapter, I promise. Also, for any Jaime Murray fans, yes it's _that_ Helena :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: It's been too long since I last posted and I know you guys are waiting patiently, so I just wanted to get this chapter up. It's not well copy edited, so I apologize for any errors. I'll tidy it up later. Enjoy!**

**TW: Nothing obvious for this chapter, but please let me know if anything triggers you. There's vague references to past violent events.**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

The sight of Maura took her breath away. Jane stared at her dumbly, unsure whether she could believe what she was seeing.

It had been a month since they'd had the briefest meeting- since she had first seen Maura in her changed form, and then watched as she was wrenched away again. So many weeks of trying not to think that her friend might be dead, doggedly working away at an impossibly layered case with no leads and so many dead ends, all in the desperate hope that she might be able to find her and bring her home. And now here she was. Jane could hardly believe it could be so easy. Well- she rethought that statement- not easy exactly. Until the moment she stepped out of the elevator she hadn't been entirely sure what she was about to walk into. But she had found exactly what she was looking for.

Her friend was alive. She was better than alive in fact; she seemed to be well taken care of. They could talk and Jane could get answers to all her many questions, make sure she was ok, get her home safely. Jane's head was buzzing with all things she wanted to say, and then… abruptly they were gone; they evaporated as she really noticed the apartment for the first time: the _apartment_. It was so different from the scattered desperation of the motel, or the sparse temporality of the warehouse. This place was so different, so… permanent.

Maura had changed too since the last time Jane had seen her in those frantic moments- she looked more like herself. There were still differences; there were dark circles under her eyes and her new hair colour was... not unsuited to her, but unfamiliar. It made her look like someone else. Her bangs had grown out and her hair was closer to its old length, but it was still a deep chocolate brown.

She was back to her full height, having adopted high heels again- but they were sleek black boots that reached almost to her knees. She wore black pants, a loose grey silk shirt, and a black jacket of carefully distressed leather. Her clothes and her demeanour had the richness of Maura about them; not like her on-the-run attire, in which she might blend in with any individual on the street. But she was lacking the colour and flair of Maura Isles- no splash of bright fuchsia in the fabric of her clothes, no chunky accessories, no pink lipstick. Her clothes, her hair, her eyes, were all dark.

Jane had the distinct impression that Maura had grown into her modified appearance; that she was adapting to her new life. And in that moment she knew that Maura was not coming home with her; she was settling in for the long-haul.

Her initial feelings of elation melted into misgivings. Maura saw her expression falter as she waited awkwardly for Jane to speak. When Danny- the bartender- had called up to tell her a tall dark haired woman was here to see her, her stomach had tied up into knots. She paced back and forth as she listened to the elevator making its interminably long trip upwards, twisting her ring nervously around her finger and taking measured breaths as she attempted to resolve the duel feelings of desperate relief and nervous anticipation.

But Jane's expression when she saw Maura, the joy that mirrored hers and then the way it changed as her eyes swept over her, taking in her appearance, filled Maura with foreboding. As they eyed each other uncertainly she felt the distance between them stretch out into empty space.

So Maura did what came most naturally when she felt off-kilter; she focused on the things she could control. She distanced herself and became objective. Observing the odd way Jane held one arm gingerly against her, she remembered with a jolt that it was due the shooting in the parking garage. She was surprised at herself for having forgotten even for a minute. The arm she had injured was no longer bandaged or in a sling but it couldn't have healed already, and Jane's posture indicated that it was giving her some discomfort.

"You're not wearing a sling."

Jane seemed surprised to hear Maura's voice cut through her thoughts and bridge the space between them. She glanced down at her arm, as if needing to check what might be the matter with it, and then remembering, shrugged with her good shoulder.

"Well I wasn't going to walk into an Irish mob bar displaying my physical weakness was I?"

Maura seemed to flinch a little at the description of their surroundings but she recovered quickly. "It's far too early for you to remove the support from your arm, Jane. The muscle is still healing. Did the surgeon use the Weaver-Dunn procedure?"

"He used the stitching-it-back-together procedure," Jane replied, somewhat incredulous that this was the first conversation they were having after being apart for so long.

"Let me take a look," Maura instructed, moving towards her and indicating a chair to her left.

Jane looked at her doubtfully. Maura stood much closer now, but still out of reach, her face a mask of professionalism. She acquiesced, slipping off her jacket and carefully removing her shirt sleeve so the doctor could get a better view of the healing tissue on her shoulder.

"Who operated on you, was it Dr. Sluckey?"

"Ew not of course not!" Jane wrinkled up her nose in disgust. "He was bad enough the first time around. 'How are _we _feeling today?' '_We _seem to be in a bit of pain, how is _our _shoulder doing?' Ugh- your turtle has better bedside manner."

Maura seemed unphased at her outburst, but Jane didn't miss the twitch at the edge of her lips as she automatically corrected, "Tortoise."

"This is healing well," Maura pronounced. "The surgeon has done impressive work- there will be minimal scarring."

Jane couldn't resist.

"Oh thank god!" she responded in an exaggerated tone that was calculated to make Maura roll her eyes. "I would _hate _to have a scar- that would be so _ugly _and my skin is so _perfect _otherwise!" She flashed her scalpel-marked hands at her friend. "Oh and except for this one-" she lifted the bottom of her shirt to expose the place where a bullet had torn through her abdomen. "Oh and this one" she turned her head to highlight the place where Hoyt had sliced across her neck. "And this one-" she was leaning down to pull up her pant leg when Maura's laugh made her pause. She looked up to see the woman beaming down at her.

"Ok, Jane, point taken. I just thought you would appreciate some reassurance that you're on the mend. I know how agitated you can get when you have to give yourself time to heal."

"Me?" Jane feigned affronted wide-eyed shock, enjoying the way Maura smiled and shook her head in resignation.

"You're incorrigible."

"Yes, but we already knew that."

It was surprising how quickly they could fall back into mundane banter when there was so much more to be said, and yet the familiarity of it was a relief, and it eased some of the uncomfortable tension. The words were a cover; something to start the conversation while trying to figure out how to say what really needed to be said. Maura smiled and started to move away, and Jane felt a stab of panic as the tension began to fall again.

"Maur-" Jane said softly, reaching for her friend's hand before she could step too far back and add physical space to the distance between them. "I didn't come here for a check-up."

Maura stopped at the touch and looked down at Jane's fingers brushing against her own. She wanted so badly to return the touch. She had missed Jane. But she felt so ashamed of her recent actions, of the compromises she'd had to make. She wanted to keep Jane separate from all that. She wanted to keep Jane safe. But at the same time, with Jane here now, Maura realized how much she had needed to see her.

"You're ok?" Jane looked at her with an open face, big brown eyes.

Maura took her hand in her own and squeezed it. "I'm ok."

Jane held her gaze for a minute, giving Maura the opportunity to elaborate if she wanted to, but she did not.

"This place is…nice," Jane said finally. looking around the apartment.

"The decor is a bit… bachelor-pad for my taste," Maura pulled a face at the black leather sofas, deep red accessories and industrial furniture. "It was Paddy Doyle's. But it's an improvement on a storage room."

"You were staying at Steve MacAuley's warehouse."

Maura felt her heart rate increase in anticipation of the lies she might have to attempt. Of course the detective would have questions, and most of them Maura wouldn't be able to answer, either for Jane's safety or for her own. She chose her words carefully.

"Yes. It was only supposed to be temporary, but when it became clear that my situation wouldn't be resolved quickly, we began to look for other arrangements. The warehouse wasn't very secure. It was only a matter of time before someone came for me."

"You heard about the cop killing?"

The conversation was moving into dangerous territory. Maura couldn't lie, not to anyone but especially not to Jane. And if, in trying to avoid lying, she was too evasive, Jane would pick up on it right away. She carefully negotiated each question like she was performing a dance, giving out the information she could, in place of the answers that she couldn't.

"Yes, it's awful."

"The body was dumped outside the warehouse. We think Ferguson was trying to draw attention; trying to flush you out."

Maura shook her head. "He wants people to know that no one associated with me is safe. Not Paddy Doyle's people, and not even the authorities."

Ferguson hadn't killed the officer. But the men he had sent to torture and murder the FBI agent assigned to protect her had been calculated to send just that message. She'd heard it loud and clear, and responded in kind. She closed her eyes against the memory of Agent Forbes' broken body, and Sean Peter's desperate last gasps as she levelled a gun at his head.

"This is not your fault," Jane's fierce response cut through her thoughts. "You are not responsible for any of this. This is all Colin Ferguson. And we're gonna get him, Maura, I promise. He's gonna pay for what he's done."

Maura gave her a weak smile, hoping that Jane took her obvious discomfort as a reaction to her situation, and not from the half-truths she was having to tell about her role in the recent grizzly events.

Jane was choosing her words carefully too. Things were clearly escalating with Ferguson, and this was not a safe environment for Maura, whatever the woman might think. Jane needed to get her away from here, somewhere she could keep an eye on her.

"Maura, I want you to think about going back into protective custody."

"No." Maura response was emphatic. She dropped Jane's hand abruptly and crossed the room.

"Just hear me out-"

"No, Jane. There's no question. The authorities can't protect me."

"And you think these people can?" Jane gestured towards the elevator that lead back down to the bar, where Boston's criminal underworld sipped cold beers and smoked. "How do you know they won't turn on you? Why wouldn't they just turn you over to Ferguson and join him, if he makes their lives difficult enough? You can't trust them."

"I don't," Maura's tone was fierce. "But it's safer for everyone if I'm here. I saw what they did to Agent Forbes. I _saw _it, Jane. I won't put another officer at risk. I will not be responsible for any more bloodshed."

"Maura-"

"Listen," Maura softened her tone and moved closer. "I know my situation is precarious. I'm aware, Jane. But I'm ok. And I know that you're doing everything you can to stop Ferguson. And that's what I need you to focus on right now."

Jane tried a different tack. "What if you leave the state? Just temporarily. Isn't your mother in France? You could go visit her-"

"I'm not running, Jane. If I run, Ferguson will get exactly what he wants. At least with me here Paddy Doyle has a representative on the outside."

This announcement caused Jane to double-take. "Is that what you are now?"

Maura sighed, trying to decide how best to phrase this.

"If you're asking me am I working for him? No, I'm not. I haven't spoken to him, besides to ask for his assistance when I fled my safehouse. But I am a figurehead. I know it- people look to me as Paddy Doyle's daughter. And if I leave now, his influence goes with me. I didn't ask for this, but I mean something to these people. As long as I'm here, there's a tangible reason to resist Ferguson, however symbolic that is in reality. And I need to stay because of what will happen if Ferguson is allowed to take control unchallenged."

Jane was very quiet as she processed Maura's words. When she finally spoke, she did so carefully.

"If your presence here is really as important as you say, Ferguson isn't going to stop coming for you. He's going to wanna take you out, and in a public way- make a statement."

"Well as you can see, Jane, I'm staying out of the public."

"So he put a dead cop right outside your door. It's a threat, Maura. To you and to anyone working with you. How long do you think it's gonna take for one of those goons downstairs to think he'll cash in on Ferguson's good will by bringing him your head?"

How could she reassure Jane without confessing to how embroiled she had become in Paddy Doyle's affairs? The risks she'd taken, the laws she had broken? Sean Peters, the dead cop, the frame-up of Ferguson that was surely about to come to fruition. The way that the men downstairs had looked at her when she entered the bar- with respect, because she was Paddy Doyle's daughter, and because her reputation preceded her…

"Jane-" she looked earnestly into Jane's deep brown eyes. "I know. I know you're worried. But you need to trust me. You need to let me handle things this end because there's nothing you can do. You need to trust that I know what I'm doing. Just like I'm trusting you to solve this case without me."

Jane sucked in a sharp breath at that last comment. Because honestly, working the Ferguson clan murders without Maura- with Pike instead- had been torture. Trying to gather intel from the FBI had been like pulling teeth. Trying to map the status of the members Boston's crime families had been a painfully slow process that had sucked up most of her time. And the bodies were still piling up in the morgue. And she hadn't slept in over thirty six hours. But Maura was looking at her with those big earnest eyes, believing in her, needing her to be on form even though her shoulder was pounding, and her muscles ached, and her eyelids were heavy, and she felt about as off her game as she ever had.

"I just don't know what I would do if anything happened to you," she managed weakly.

Maura squeezed her arm and spoke with all the certainty and confidence she could muster. "Nothing is going to happen to me, Jane. I'm ok. Just focus on the things you can control."

They looked at each other for a long minute, as if suddenly realizing that this was the first- and perhaps last- opportunity they would have to be in each others company for a long time.

"But how are _you_?" Maura asked suddenly. Now that the pitfall-laden conversation had been successfully negotiated, she allowed her mind to go to all the questions she had for Jane. "And how is Angela? Is she still developing her line of baked goods? And how are Detective Korsak and Frost? Did Frankie ever get his motorcycle running properly?"

Jane looked at her incredulously, and couldn't help but grin. "Really? You want to know about my mother's attempts to sell her baking and my brother's bike troubles?"

"Yes! I've been out of everything for so long. It's been so isolating. So yes, Jane, I want to hear everything. Tell me everything that's happened in the last few months. I would love to hear about some normal, mundane, daily events."

"Ok…" Jane settled back into the sofa as Maura excitedly reoriented herself next to her friend, so as to get a better look at her and ensure she didn't miss a word. "Well, my mom has been nuts as usual. She's still baking but since Tommy paid off her debts she doesn't need to sell brownies to pay the IRS any more. She's actually been working overtime at the station- well, everyone is at the moment, with the crime rate going crazy. So she's made it her personal mission to make sure every cop gets a square meal. Oh but she was so mad the other day because she was at the station late instead of babysitting TJ, and he took his first steps."

Maura gasped. "TJ's walking?"

"Apparently! I haven't seen it yet but Tommy said he definitely gets like two full steps before he sortof falls the rest of the way into Lydia's arms."

"That's amazing! He's several months ahead of the average age. He must be quite developmentally advanced."

"Must be that African baby mask I gave to Lydia. Guaranteed to raise IQ. She's been playing peekaboo with it," Jane said with a smirk.

"But wouldn't that improve her cognitive development, if she's been the one wearing it?"

"Oh well in that case it's not working at all," Jane replied with an exaggerated frown. "TJ must just be benefiting from the Rizzoli genes. I was very advanced as a child you know."

"Oh really," Maura gave her friend and amused look.

"Mhmm, my first word was, 'unbelievable'. I was interrogating assumed reality from a very early age."

Maura relaxed into the sofa as Jane regaled her with tales of life at the precinct, with stories of normalcy and the life she'd left behind. She laughed at Jane's exaggerated impressions and colourful descriptions. She laughed until her cheeks hurt from smiling and her stomach muscles ached and she realised that it had been so long since she'd felt anything like this. And somewhere in the back of her mind she was sad at how unfamiliar joy had become, but she pushed it away to focus on the moment, on Jane, on being here with her closest friend in the world. She lay her head on Jane's shoulder, and brushed tears of laughter from her eyes, and sighed and smiled.

Maura didn't remember falling asleep, but as she leaned into Jane as they cozied up on the sofa, some of the heaviness in her brain lifted and she allowed herself to relax for the first time in a long time.

Jane finally noticed that Maura was no longer responding to her sardonic remarks and witty repartee, and, looking down, saw her friend was sleeping peacefully against her. Jane's own sleeplessness hovered over her as she stifled a yawn, allowing her head to rest against Maura's as she closed her eyes for just a minute. She should go soon- it was late, and this was not a good place for her to let her guard down. But she was so tired, and the familiar scent of Maura's hair was so reassuring. If she could just close her eyes for a minute…

A noise at the door caused Jane's head to jerk up. Steve stood in the doorway. He paused for a moment, seeing the two women curled up together on the sofa, noting the way Jane's arm contracted protectively around Maura as her sleep deprived eyes searched in the dark.

"She's asleep?" he said finally, and then to himself as much as to Jane, "Good."

He turned to leave, pausing as something occurred to him. "No one will bother you here," he informed her. "Stay if you like."

He closed the door behind him. Jane's heart was pounding as she rested her chin against Maura's head, vaguely thinking that she should leave, but not wanting to go without saying goodbye, and not wanting to wake her friend. She wrestled with her indecision for a moment before the adrenaline rush subsided and exhaustion reasserted itself. She closed her eyes again, leaning back into Maura and falling into a deep, troubled sleep.


End file.
